Only By The Night
by CSIBakerStreet
Summary: A teen AU in which John works in his aunt's café and one day runs into the mysterious Sherlock Holmes.
1. Chapter 1

He sighed as he wiped crumbs and dried coffee stains off the sticky tables. Working at his aunt's café really hadn't been John Watson's idea of a perfect summer. Of course, he needed to earn some money before he went to university, but if someone had asked him what kind of job he wanted, working in a tiny café that was usually full of old people chatting away about their old-people-problems surely wouldn't have been his answer.

Then again, he was beginning to like the café more and more. It was really cozy, decorated like a bistro in France – his aunt had some weird obsession with Paris – and the walls were plastered with black-and-white photos and paintings of the Eiffel Tour and the Champs Élysées. Here and there a few postcards and souvenirs that his aunt had brought from her several travels to France.

Sometimes the work was boring and tedious, but he earned good money and the old ladies that stopped by the café frequently, while walking their dogs and meeting their friends for a coffee or just passing the time, tipped him most generously. He's only been working here for two weeks, but he already knew some of them by their name and his aunt's landlady, Mrs Hudson, was particularly fond of him.

In retrospect, he was glad that he had taken the job. John had been really excited when his mum had told him that he could stay at his aunt's in London for the summer. Under the condition that he helped out in the café. He had eventually agreed, because his mates would be playing football and going on trips and after his leg injury a few months ago, he wouldn't be able to play football any time soon and neither did he have enough money to go on trips with them. The alternative was staying at home, where his usually drunk sister Harry was making out with her girlfriend on the living room sofa while their mum was at work. So London it was.

John finished cleaning up and went to the back room, up the stairs to his aunt Lizzie's flat, where he stayed in the guest room. Well, it was more like his room at home now. Clothes and books were spread all over the place; it looked like after a minor explosion. He grinned at the thought of what his mum would say, she'd be screaming and shouting until he cleaned up and then, in the course of a few days it would look all cluttered again. Lizzie thankfully never made it up to his room, he truly loved that about living with her.

"Thanks for cleaning up, John", his aunt called from the living room. "Would you come here for a minute?"

"Sure…" he shouted back, tossing his shoes up the next flight of stairs, which lead to the upstairs bedroom. He'd pick them up later.

He walked into the living area and let himself fall on the sofa next to her. Lizzie was sitting there, reading some housewife magazine. Looking around the room, it became clear to him, that even if Lizzie saw his room, she would hardly mind the mess, as down here it looked pretty much alike. Paper scattered all over the tables, magazines and books piling up, but it seemed oddly in place, like it all belonged there. His gaze drifted back to Lizzie, who was still engrossed in some article about baking the best muffins of the millennium or whatever else they wrote about in those magazines.

"So, what's up?" he asked after a while. John was curious what this was about, because she never actually _asked_ to talk to him, she normally just did and that made him feel both curious and a bit anxious.

She looked up and eyed him with a serious look.

"You know, John, it's not like I want you out of the house, but I'm a little worried, because you never go out… You've found some friends, haven't you? Why don't go do something with them? You're in London, go explore the city a bit, you know, have fun. Don't feel like you have to stay here with me and watch telly every day."

He knew she meant well, of course she did. And yeah, he had talked to some blokes, who lived down the street, but he was reluctant to go somewhere with them. His leg wasn't quite fine yet and he didn't want to be a pain. He had been out watching a film and just striding around the city, but at his own pace.

"Thanks, Lizzie, I might do that on the weekend", he said with a sincere smile, but knowing exactly that he probably wouldn't.

"Good. I don't want you to get lonely", she mused and turned back to her magazine.

"Yeah, right…" He got up and shuffled up the stairs and sat down on his bed. John picked up a book, but got bored of it after a while. He ended up staring out the window, wondering what to do with himself. He really didn't know.

Of course, he couldn't hide in here until it was time to go back home again. And dying of boredom wasn't an option either.

Down on the street, people were running around, on the way home from work or on the way to their respective evening activities. Lamps were lit in the flats on the opposite side of the street, people came home to have dinner and told their families about their day. Suddenly, with an idea in mind, he got up and took the binoculars he had found in a drawer a couple of days ago. With a grin, he took a look around.

_I need to get a hobby_, he thought, _and spying on other people hardly counts as one_. 

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><p><em>Alright then, thanks for reading... leave me some reviews ;)<em>


	2. Chapter 2

John switched off all the lights in his room, so he wouldn't be discovered and took a good look around. He could easily see into three flats on the opposite side of the street. In one of them an old women watched a game show on TV, he had seen her at the café before, he couldn't remember her name, though. Another one was home to a couple, they were arguing, he watched as he was obviously trying to explain himself waving his hands around and a silent plea on his face, while she was most definitely not willing to listen to a word he had to say. The whole scenario ended with her storming out the door. John could see her walking down the street a few minutes later.

He set his binoculars down, feeling a bit embarrassed, when his attention was drawn to the third lit up flat. Two blokes, probably not much older than he was, were evidently about to get it on, as they were enthusiastically snogging and ripping each other's clothes off. Filled with interest, John brought the binoculars back to his eyes and watched the taller one of them vanish out of sight, much to the pleasure of the dark haired guy. John chuckled. _I really shouldn't be doing this._

Still, he couldn't make himself feel guilty about it, as things were getting more and more interesting on the other side of the street. The taller bloke kissed his way back up to his lover's mouth and then dragged him off to another room, both of them with broad smiles on their faces.

Seeing that left John somewhat frustrated and he promised himself that he'd get out of the house at some point.

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><p>"Ohhh, look over there, he's here. Oh, but don't look", whispered Molly excitedly. John, standing behind the counter making coffee, had no idea what on earth she was talking about. He liked Molly, she worked in the café after school, she was a bit shy, but overall extremely kind and obliging, but sometimes, like now, she got a little overexcited and he didn't quite understand why.<p>

"What? Who?", asked John, immediately letting his gaze drift over the tables looking for whoever she might mean.

"Don't look… But over there, on the right, where the Eiffel Tower picture is… that's Sherlock Holmes and his brother… I said don't look", she added, when he tried to get a good look at that Sherlock Holmes guy she was making such a fuss about.

"Okay, okay, I'm not looking… so what about him?" John naturally tried to catch a glimpse without Molly noticing anyway.

"Well, he is… I don't know… he…", she trailed off, but she didn't need to explain, John understood perfectly well.

"You fancy him?" He grinned as she blushed. John handed her two cups of coffee and watched her take them over to their table. He had to admit that this guy really had something about him. Dark curly hair, vivid sparkly eyes and cheekbones to die for. He was deep in conversation with his… brother Molly had said, not even looking up when she set the cups down on their table with a warm smile directed towards him. John caught himself staring at the strange guy's mouth, snapped back into reality by Molly who had somehow reappeared at his side without him noticing.

"Why don't you ask him out then?", John teased Molly with a wicked smile. "It's quite obvious that you like him"

"Well, to be honest… I tried, but it didn't really work out for me", she whispered, her cheeks flushing again. With a shrug she went back to waiting tables, leaving John alone with his own thoughts.

He tried to mind his own business, sold coffee and scones at the counter, had a chat with Mrs. Hudson who filled him in on everything there was to know about her hip, but he always felt his gaze wander back to Sherlock Holmes whose eyes never left his brother's. It looked like they had some important issues to talk about, Sherlock obviously trying hard to explain something, his brother listening intently. John wished he could hear him talk, hear his voice. He wondered if his voice was as intriguing as his appearance.

After a while he began to wonder where all those thoughts came from, for all he knew it was just some random bloke, no one special. But then again, John felt like he was somewhat special, although he didn't even know him.

When the two Holmes brothers got up to leave, John followed Sherlock's every movement, from when he swiftly got up from his chair to when he put on an expensive looking coat and his scarf with quick movements, all with an absorbing elegance. John was overcome by a weird curiosity he genuinely couldn't explain and secretly hoping that Sherlock Holmes would be back at the café before long.

As they turned to leave, Sherlock threw a quick look back at John. A faint smile was playing on his lips, almost like he knew what John was thinking about him, which made John promptly turn his whole attention to rearranging the pastries in the display case, aware that he had been staring this whole time, trying to hide is embarrassment.


	3. Chapter 3

When John went to bed that evening his thoughts still dwelled on Sherlock Holmes, whose whole appearance had left him deeply impressed and – more than everything else – curious. There was something odd and strangely intriguing about that guy with the dark, wild curls and that slender body and, oh my, those cheekbones. John grinned into the darkness, wondering what the hell he was even thinking.

He stared at the dark ceiling trying to figure out who he might be, which kept him up a good deal of the night. Both, Sherlock and his brother, had seemed slightly out of place in his aunt's tiny café, looking a bit too posh and obviously having enough money for a fancier place. So why had they come there? They had evidently been there before, or at least Sherlock had, since Molly had known him already.

Poor Molly, she really didn't have the best of luck. Her father had left her family a couple of months ago and her ex-boyfriend had turned out to be cheating on her with some other guy. It had taken him a while to get it out of her, he wouldn't have asked, but she'd seemed so incredibly sad and after a while she'd eventually confided in him.

Another question John occupied himself with that night was whether Sherlock Holmes would come back any time soon. And he sure was hoping that he would. Why, he wasn't exactly sure yet himself.

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><p>The next couple of days he kept subconsciously waiting for Sherlock to return. The hours crept by every day, it was always the same routine, after all. He rarely had time to chat with Molly, they were both quite busy most of the time, they occasionally exchanged some words, but nothing of any importance that could have made him feel a little less bored.<p>

Mrs Hudson and Mrs Turner often came by for tea and some cake, Mrs Turner telling everyone who wanted to hear it (and also everyone who didn't want to hear it… including John) about her grandson who had recently graduated from university and now had a job for which he was moving to Tokyo. One night, when Molly was long gone and Lizzie had already retired to the flat and John was about to close up, she was just filling him in on the pros and cons of living in a city like Toyko, when he heard the door open, John inwardly cursing because he hadn't turned around the sign at the door to indicate that they were closed for the night.

A few seconds later, seeing who the unexpected guest was, he didn't really care anymore. Sherlock Holmes strode towards them, smirked at John and placed a few notes on the counter. "Can I have a coffee to go, black with two sugars".

"Yeah… sure," John managed to choke out and turned to get him his coffee.

Mrs Turner then apparently believed it was the perfect time to head home and left him with a "Good night, John, dearie" all alone with Sherlock.

Silence fell while John was pouring the coffee in a paper cup, trying very hard not to look at Sherlock, but eventually resigned and threw the other boy a quick glance and noticed that he was staring at him bluntly.

"So, what was it then, football or rugby?" asked Sherlock and when John only stared at him dumbly he added, "Your leg?"

"Oh… football. How did you…?"

But Sherlock only snatched his coffee off the counter with a grin that made Johns heart jump a little and was out the door, his coat billowing behind him.

That night, John couldn't bring himself to sleep with his thoughts running wild, wondering how Sherlock could have know about his leg, he'd just been standing there, after all. He considered spying on his neighbours once more to distract himself, as he clearly wasn't getting anywhere, but a quick look told him that all the lights were out and there was nothing to see. The lives of his neighbours seemed pretty interesting compared to his own, the two guys on the top floor frequently had visitors, although he had no idea what they were all doing there and the couple whose fight he had witnessed had made up a couple of days ago (it was not his fault that they were unable to draw their curtains).

Sherlock came back the next day. And the next. And the day after that. Always when everyone else had left, always when John was in the café alone, always ordering the same, but never really talking to John, still always smiling his gorgeous smile before he left. He never came when John was off in the evening, though. He had asked Molly about it, trying to slip it into the conversation as casually as possible, just wondering if that _bloke she adored so much_ had been back. Molly had just elbowed him in the ribs and silently mouthed "no" with an embarrassed smile.

Every single time Sherlock came back, John was thinking about talking to him, but couldn't bring himself to, because… what would he say?

Until one day that problem solved itself, when Sherlock stepped into the café on evening, all soaked from the pouring down rain, with a bleeding lip and slightly out of breath.

"Bloody hell… what on earth happened to you?"

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><p><em>thanks for reading, everyone :) how about you leave me some reviews?<em>


	4. Chapter 4

When Sherlock didn't say anything, John walked over to him and pushed him towards a chair. "Sit down and let me take a look at that."

Sherlock let him, still not talking, but he kept his eyes fixed on John. "I've seen worse," John mumbled, "Let me just…"

But he didn't even let him finish. "It's fine", Sherlock finally said, barely audible, with a wave of his hand.

"Are you sure? I mean, I've really seen worse than this, but still…" John couldn't finish once again, this time interrupted by Sherlock's intense stare. He was desperately trying to say something, anything really, because he was starting to feel awfully uncomfortable. Finally he made an attempt to find out what had happened. "So… how did that… I mean, what…?"

"I ran into some people who weren't pleased to make my acquaintance," he told him with a smirk, "and apparently they would like me to _keep my nose out of their business._"

"Alright…" John muttered, not getting a word the other boy was saying. But to be honest, he didn't even care. He was talking to Sherlock – more or less – and he was more nervous than he should be.

Then Sherlock suddenly got up and looked down at John, who was only a few inches away from him, a bit intimidated by the sudden closeness, but too busy staring to take a step back.

John cleared his throat. "Did you want… coffee?" he asked, not knowing what else to say and hardly able to think straight.

"I was hoping you could assist me in a somewhat important matter. It would be greatly appreciated." Now the smirk was back on Sherlock's face.

"And what would that be?" John had absolutely no idea how _he_ could ever be of any assistance to someone like Sherlock Holmes. Why would he ask for his help? John was completely sure that this guy could get anyone's help, including people who were actually good at something, unlike John, who only knew how to make coffee.

"I understand your room is facing this side of the street." Sherlock vaguely gestured towards the front of the café.

"Well, yeah…" Not that he got what that had to do with anything.

"Very good, let's go!" Sherlock went straight for the back door, John only staring dumbly.

"But…" he finally managed to throw in, "I don't even know you."

"You know that my name is Sherlock Holmes, I'm quite certain Molly Hooper has mentioned that and you know how I like my coffee. People have let me into their rooms knowing less." John didn't really know what to make of that last comment, but then only shrugged, because, to be honest, he'd give anything to get him into his room, no matter for what reason. So he locked the café door and turned all the lights off, before he led Sherlock upstairs to his bedroom, careful not to wake up Lizzie who had fallen asleep on the living room sofa.

Upstairs in his room, Sherlock threw his wet coat on his bed and went straight for the window. "So, what exactly is it that you want me to help you with?" John wondered, awkwardly standing behind him, unsure how to deal with this rather odd situation.

"Oh, you already did, John." Sherlock said under his breath, not caring to explain anything. His eyes darted across the room and came to a rest on the binoculars that lay on a table next to the windowsill. "I had no idea you were quite so… _observant._"

John probably should have made some attempt to find an explanation, so Sherlock wouldn't think he was an utter creeper, but the other boy looked rather pleased.

"Tell me what you've seen. Across the street. Tell me about the two guys who live over there." Sherlock was staring at John again.

"I… Well, they… they're a couple" He actually didn't know a lot about them.

"That's a very nice deduction, John, but I was hoping you'd go deeper than that."

John was trying really hard to think of anything else. "Um… they hardly leave their flat… they usually just have a lot of people over."

"Do they? Interesting."

"How is that interesting?" He still didn't understand what exactly Sherlock wanted to find out.

"I've promised my brother that I would help him out with some of his… _problems. _He works for the government, you see, and those two guys seem to supply half of London with drugs, which turns out to be one of my brother's minor problems, that's why he passed this one on to me to deal with. And from what I've found out so far, it seems like they are the ones organizing it all. It took me weeks to find them in the first place, they've done a very neat job. Once one of their dealers is busted, he's replaced by another one and you can never trace it back to them, because they don't actually get _involved_."

"You… work for the government?" John couldn't really wrap his mind around what he just heard.

"My brother does, do try to keep up. He's afraid that I might get into trouble, so he tries to keep me busy and assigns me to cases… it's not quite official, so you better not mention that to anyone," Sherlock added in a serious voice, followed by a smug smile.

The smile convinced John that Sherlock didn't mean him any harm, but deep down he was sure that the threat was still very real. Uneasy because of the awkward silence that spread between them and he felt the urge to do _something_, John sat down on the chair next to the window and picked up the binoculars to take a look at the flat across the street. It was dark. "They're not home," he stated.

"Obviously," Sherlock muttered. Close. Very close to his left ear. That guy had clearly never even heard of personal space. John turned his head to see that Sherlock had bent over and his face was now only a few inches from John's. He could see the dried blood on Sherlock's lip (it really wasn't too bad, like John had said before) and then his eyes drifted up to his cheekbones and those extremely beautiful eyes.

"Um…" he couldn't manage any more than that. Sherlock was so, so close.

"Well, thank you for your help," Sherlock said, then making his way to John's bed and picking up his coat. "I gotta dash now, but I'll be back", he assured him with a wink. And then he was out the door, John mindlessly staring at the spot where Sherlock Holmes had been standing mere seconds ago.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock indeed came back the next day, but this time it was before Molly and Lizzie had left. Molly almost dropped a tray of cups on her way to the little kitchen in the back when he walked in. She quickly put it down on some table and turned to him. "Can I help you?" She sounded almost a little too eager.

"No, I'm just waiting for John to finish," he replied, not unfriendly, but still somewhat cool.

"Oh… okay" Molly threw John a confused glace when she slowly walked back. He could see how hard she was trying to figure out what the two of them might be up to.

Sherlock was casually leaning on one of the tables next to the counter, watching John do his work when Lizzie picked the cleaning cloth out of John's hand. "How about you kids just call it a day and go do whatever young people do these days and I'll finish cleaning up."

John didn't need to be asked twice. "Alright, thanks Lizzie." John grinned at her and then looked at Sherlock, questioningly. _What do you want to do?_

"Come along, John" Sherlock strode past Lizzie and Molly and toward the back door, John on his heel. He quickly looked back and saw that Lizzie obviously couldn't care less where they were going, because she had turned her full attention to cleaning the counter, but Molly stared at them with an unfathomable expression. It might have been disbelief mixed with a little jealousy. Maybe she was hoping for an invitation to join them, or maybe, well, maybe she'd figured out John's actual thoughts about Sherlock. He quickly decided not to give it any further thought, since that would be downright mortifying.

They went back to John's room and Sherlock, completely ignoring John, pushed a chair next to John's window and began watching the flat on the other side of the street.

John just stood there behind him, wondering what he could possibly say, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other and trying very hard not to stare at Sherlock mop of dark curls.

"Shh, I'm trying to think."

"I didn't say anything," John complained. God, that guy could be so rude.

"You were thinking, it's annoying," Sherlock shot back, turning around to underline his statement with an irritated glance.

"How about you just go find someone else's window for your spying purposes if I annoy you so much?" John was getting slightly angry. His mum was always joking about how it'd be better to just run and hide instead of facing an angry John Watson. She was so right about that.

Sherlock seemed to sense that he shouldn't keep pushing it. "I said your thinking was annoying, not _you_."

"Oh well, then I'll just stop thinking, shall I?" The thing is, he was quite as mad as he wanted to be. Attempting not to let this show too much, he sat down on his bed and picked up a book.

Sherlock never took his eyes off the opposite flat, it seemed, and John hardly ever looked up from his book. However, once or twice, when John quickly glanced over to the window to check if Sherlock was still there, because they both sat there in complete silence, he could have sworn that he saw Sherlock's eyes on him in the window's reflection, quickly flickering back to whatever he was observing when he felt that John had caught him. He couldn't be sure, though, it might have been just his own wishful thinking.

A few hours went by, neither of them spoke, around midnight Sherlock got up. "I should go, I suppose you want to sleep."

_I don't care, you can stay for however long you want to_. "I… yeah, okay," John said instead.

"Goodnight then, John" And he was out the door again. He didn't hear him on the stairs, he could probably break in and no one would ever notice that he was there.

Sherlock, however, always came back. Every day after John was done with his work in the café they went up to John's room, when John had a day off, they met down on the street. It was their routine, Sherlock did his _job_, John read a book or, after he got bored, watched Sherlock watching them. Sometimes Sherlock talked about cases he had solved for his brother and one late Friday evening he told him about how he'd found a murderer by reading a newspaper article when he was eight years old.

After he was done with _that_ story, John could only stare at him, completely amazed. "That's brilliant!"

"That's not what they said," muttered Sherlock, not looking at John.

"What did they say?"

"Well, basically they told me to piss off," he explained matter-of-factly.

"Oh… you know, we could take turns… watching them…" John offered, because he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"I don't think you know what to look for… but, thank you" The _thank you_ sounded more like a question, as if he was not sure if it was the right thing to say. He rubbed his eyes.

"Maybe you should take a little break then? You've been here five days and nothing ever happened."

Sherlock sighed, he was pretty frustrated, because John was right, nothing ever happened. They were there, in their flat, something making phone calls, sometimes answering emails. He spent whole days following one or both of them through London, but everything they did and passed on eventually got lost in an endless network of their accomplices and it was impossible for him to follow all of them. His own network wasn't big enough for that. He shrugged and sat down on the bed next to John.

A few minutes later John got up to get them some coffee and something to eat, it was the middle of the night, but John didn't seem to care about conventional times for eating. And quite frankly, neither did Sherlock.

When John came back, he found Sherlock sleeping on his bed. With a grin, he put the coffee and the sandwiches on the table next to his bed and sat down next to Sherlock, carefully trying not to wake him up, since he had seemed properly knackered before.


	6. Chapter 6

A little while later, John fell asleep as well, but soon Sherlock's text alert made them both jump. John's eyes flew open and the first thing his still sleepy brain noticed was that he was _extremely_ close to Sherlock. Their faces only inches apart, their hands almost touching. Sherlock took a notably shorter time to fully wake up, as he instantly checked his phone and with a "Fantastic, let's go, John", he hopped off the bed enthusiastically, grabbed his coat and was ready to leave within seconds.

"Wait, what? What's going on?" John sat up on the bed, clearly confused.

"My homeless network let me know that there's something rather suspicious going on not far from here and I'd very much like to take a look at that. Are you coming or not?" Sherlock was already halfway out the door. "Might be dangerous," he added, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

That was the clue for John to get off his bed, forgotten was the fact that he had never been one to look for trouble, or that he might be slowing Sherlock down with his leg. This was his adventure with Sherlock and he wouldn't miss it for the world.

Sherlock grinned and threw John his jacket and they were off into the jungle of the city.

When he walked next to Sherlock, John could feel his anxiety, could feel that he'd rather just run off, but Sherlock was surprisingly patient and tried not to walk too fast, for which John was extremely grateful.

"So… you have a homeless network?" John finally asked, after they'd been walking in silence for a while.

"Yes, they are very loyal and utterly reliable," Sherlock replied. "And be quiet now, I don't want you to give us away." John wanted to retort something, but Sherlock quickly shushed him and walked on, checking his phone once again. Trying hard not to roll his eyes, John followed.

When they reached Regent's Park, Sherlock didn't have to search for long and soon he wordlessly dragged John behind some bushes and pointed in the direction of two people casually sitting on a park bench. Had it been day, this would have been completely inconspicuous, just two blokes sitting there, but since it was the middle of the night, it seemed like an odd place to meet. They were talking in hushed voices, neither John nor Sherlock could hear what they were saying.

John was thinking about suggesting to somehow sneak a little closer, but he was certain that Sherlock would instantly murder him if he dared to open his mouth. He slowly began to wonder how long he'd be sitting here on the grass next to Sherlock, who was intently observing the two strangers, gathering information. It was John's day off the following day, so it didn't actually matter when he got home, but he found the thought of lying in his bed a bit more appealing than crouching behind some bushes not being able to move. And surely Lizzie would be freaking out if he wasn't there the next morning. He should have left her a note.

With every passing minute he also grew more and more tired and ended up suppressing a yawn. Sherlock shot him an exasperated look, slightly shifting his weight. The noise of the branch he broke, however, sounded like a gunshot in the silent night. He winced, obviously cursing himself. One of the guys on the park bench instantly turned his head toward where they were hiding and with a hushed "Run!" Sherlock swiftly pulled John to his feet and away into the dark.

And they were running, out of Regent's Park into the city, John strongly wishing to go back to being bored, Sherlock sometimes looking back to see if they were being followed, holding on to the sleeve of John jacket, never letting go . They rushed down streets, the streetlights and the people blurring into one colourful chaos. Just as John finally thought he couldn't possibly run any further, Sherlock pushed him into an alley.

It was dark, full of rubbish and probably home to all kinds of things John didn't even want to think about. He found himself pressed against the brick wall of a building on one side of the alley, Sherlock's hand placed over his mouth, which made it very hard for him to catch his breath after all the running.

After a while Sherlock relaxed and slowly let his hand sink, but still pressed John against the wall with the other one as if he was scared that he'd run off and reveal their hiding place. "I don't think they followed us," Sherlock's eyes darted to the street, no noise was to be heard besides the low whisper of his voice. "We should wait a few minutes to be sure."

John just nodded, breathing heavily, slightly nervous because Sherlock still stood very close to him, his hand on John's arm, leaving to space for him to move. Sherlock seemed somewhat out of breath as well, but not nearly as much as John.

"Seems like your leg isn't too bad after all," Sherlock then muttered, accompanied by John's favourite crooked smile.

He made an attempt to answer, but he wasn't able to form a coherent sentence. John didn't even pay attention to the street any longer, his eyes were solely fixed on Sherlock, who was observing the pedestrians walking by. Sherlock must have noticed his stare, though, because he turned his head back to John, their faces merely a few inches apart.

"Should we…?" John began, thinking that it would probably be safe to leave, but Sherlock just shook his head, his eyes never leaving John's.

It took only an instant of a second for John to realize how this was going to end, he didn't have enough time to give it any thought, not that there was anything to think about, he had been hoping for this to happen at some point, although he would never admit it to himself.

He felt Sherlock's lips meeting his, soft at first, but he felt the tension between them rising quickly, felt Sherlock's tongue brushing against his lips, felt the heat radiating all round them. Sherlock pushed him back against the wall, his knee sneaking in between John's thighs, making him moan silently.

John somehow got hold of the collar of Sherlock's coat, trying to pull him closer to eliminate whatever space there might have been left between them, kissing him passionately. When Sherlock made an attempt to pull back a little, out of breath once again, John wouldn't let him. Not yet.


	7. Chapter 7

When they finally broke apart, after what seemed like hours, John looked down, avoiding Sherlock's curious light eyes that flickered across his face. "That was… unexpected", he eventually choked out, still not looking up.

"Oh, was it?" Sherlock sounded extremely amused and when John finally lifted his gaze to look at him, he saw a broad smile on his face.

"Well…" John started but was promptly cut off by Sherlock.

"We better get going, I have business to attend to." Sherlock strode toward the street, turning around when he noticed that John wasn't following. "Are you coming?"

John was amazed by how fast Sherlock could switch from snogging him in some alley to working on his case. John should have asked where they were going or what they were going to do, but it hardly mattered to him right then, he would have followed Sherlock anywhere.

He looked at John intently, his impatience written all over his face. "I know you want to come, it's your day off tomorrow, what are you waiting for?"

John shook his head, that guy really knew everything, didn't he? And he seemed rather excited. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"So are you."

Of course he was. It was so different from the boring life he'd had before Sherlock Holmes had come around and pulled him into this strange adventure. Surprisingly, his job at the café seemed extremely far away, just like it was some other life.

They walked for a short while, John was sure that they weren't too far from Baker Street, where is aunt lived, but he had somehow lost track of where exactly they were going, so he couldn't be sure. He was too focused on Sherlock next to him, his thoughts sill hovering on what happened before, alas he was only strolling along, trying to keep up with his fellow's fast stride. Sherlock, however, didn't seem to have any problem concentrating at all, he was busy texting and motioning John in the right direction. Soon, they came to what Sherlock referred to as his flat.

"You have your own flat?" John looked around in disbelief, when they entered it. "You're like 17 and you don't have a real job, but you have a flat?"

Sherlock shrugged, as if it was the most common thing in the world. "Mycroft."

He immediately turned his attention back to his phone and scribbled some notes on a piece of paper. Apparently that should have explained it all. John, unsure what to do, paced around in the small flat and took a look at Sherlock's belongings. It was cluttered, books and papers on every surface, science equipment in the kitchen. There was a skull that looked terrifyingly real and a violin on a table next to one side of a sofa, on the other side a board with a construction on it that looked like a gigantic spider's web.

Photos of people he had never seen before were connected with different kinds of string, barely readable notes were pinned next to pictures and newspaper articles and in the middle a blurry photo of one of John's neighbours.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" Sherlock spoke in a low whisper, but nevertheless, it made John jump. He hadn't heard him coming. Sherlock pinned some more notes to the board, looking rather satisfied. "It's everything I know about the network. See how they hardly ever cross over? That is how they can all be disabled. The orders are passed on in a straight line, the problem is that the messengers occasionally rotate. If I, however, manage to have the right people arrested, the whole system collapses." He traced the lines with his long pale fingers while speaking. "I only have to find a way to get to _him_", he added, poking the picture in the middle.

"That's brilliant!" John had a hard time wrapping his mind around all this. That this guy was such a bloody genius and if anyone had told him that he'd be part of anything like this, he'd have found it plainly ridiculous. But now, here he was, in the middle of the night, in some guy's flat, his only thought circling around how much he'd like to pin Sherlock to that wall, in a less literal way, though.

Sherlock seemed to have sensed what was occupying his mind, as he inched a bit closer and casually placed his hand on John's back. "Do you… I mean, would you like to go back to your aunt's?" Sherlock suddenly seemed slightly uncomfortable. "You could always stay here and be back there in the morning."

"I… okay… if that's alright with you."

"I'd very much like it. I noticed that it's… easier for me to think when you're around." Sherlock's hand on John's back quivered a bit. John found it hard to believe that, since for him, it was utterly hard to think at all.

"There are some files I have to take a look at", Sherlock then said and picked up some folders, which lay piled up on the sofa. "Make yourself at home. There's no food, I think, but I have tea… somewhere." He seemed really lost, dealing with people apparently wasn't his area of expertise.

John giggled. "It's all fine… just go ahead and read your files." He walked into the small kitchen and started making tea, coming across several strange objects in the fridge when he was searching for milk.

Sherlock had perched himself on the sofa and was completely engrossed in his work when John sat down next to him. He watched him go through the files, one by one, only looking up once, as he had – absent mindedly – placed the hand he didn't need for turning pages on John's thigh. There was an unspoken question in his eyes, one that he couldn't quite phrase, usually so eloquent, but now quite lost for words. He raised an eyebrow. _Alright?_

John smiled at him, nodding ever so slightly, and put his hand on Sherlock's. _Alright_.

* * *

><p><em>I just wanted to say thank you to all of my subscribers<em>_ and also thanks for the reviews, I really appreciate it! You guys are wonderful :)_


	8. Chapter 8

Two weeks later, Sherlock had worked out a plan, but as more and more days had passed, he had tried very hard to keep John out of it all. He had hardly mentioned the case, but he had visited John frequently, sometimes he came by to buy some coffee, sometimes he came over after John was done working and they went up to John's bedroom, Lizzie smiling at them as they made their way up the stairs, but saying nothing.

John was terribly glad that she didn't make a big deal about it. He was sure that she knew exactly what was going on between him and Sherlock and he also had the impression that Molly seemed to sense something. Both of them, however, kept their thoughts to themselves. Usually.

Only once, when he had spent the night at Sherlock's and he had tried to sneak back into the flat at 6 in the morning, she had already been waiting for him, a smug smile playing around her lips. "I'm happy you found a new _friend_, John", she'd said, "but I'd appreciate it if you didn't just take off in the middle of the night and then come back hours later without telling me. He is always welcome here, though." And that was all and to John's relief they hadn't discussed it any further.

John had never gone back to Sherlock's flat, he probably couldn't even find the way back there. Sherlock had walked him back to Baker Street that day, their hands intertwined and the sun rising behind the houses around them, lighting up the grey corners of the city.

Today, Sherlock hadn't showed up at all, so John sat down on his bed to read a book. After a while, he threw it back on the bedside table, it just wasn't as entertaining as running trough London with Sherlock or, even better, making out with Sherlock. He had never been so glad to have met someone than he was about meeting Sherlock. He smiled at the thought of him, feeling ludicrous, but also terribly fortunate.

John eventually came to the conclusion that he really didn't have anything to do at all and was more than relieved when he heard footsteps on the stairs that were too heavy to be his aunt's. A couple of seconds later the door opened – Sherlock thought knocking was beneath him – and a familiar mop of dark curls appeared in the doorframe.

"Hello there", John smiled and beckoned Sherlock to come in.

He didn't say anything at first, he just crawled on the bed and curled up next to John. It wasn't until then that John saw how tired Sherlock actually looked. "Bad day?"

Sherlock shrugged and nuzzled into Johns side with his eyes closed. "Are you alright?"

He nodded, John sighed. He would talk when he wanted to. Meanwhile, John turned to running his hands through Sherlock's curls. He'd figured out that he quite liked it a couple of days ago, he himself had some weird obsession with Sherlock's hair in general, so he was a tiny bit disappointed when Sherlock sat up and chuckled as he heard the door downstairs fall shut.

"What's so funny? Did I miss something?" John couldn't help but smile, although he didn't even know what this all was about, but Sherlock shaking with silent laughter was somewhat contagious.

"See, I actually got here a lot earlier, but your aunt let me in and apparently she felt like letting me know that she'll be out tonight to play card games with Mrs Turner and Mrs Hudson and that she _won't be back for a couple of hours._ I also believe she even winked at me before I came upstairs."

"And she's gone now", John added, stating the obvious.

"Excellent deduction, John." Sherlock's voice sounded slightly muffled, for his head was already buried in John's neck, placing soft kisses wherever he could reach.

John drew in a sharp breath, this was different than usual. A lot different. Usually Sherlock came over and complained about other people's incompetence or blamed Mycroft for everything that didn't go his way, sometimes he just came over and instantly fell asleep. John didn't mind at all, he liked Sherlock just being _there_.

His thoughts were interrupted when one of Sherlock's hands started fumbling with the zipper of his jeans, while the other snuck under his shirt. "Are you sure everything's alright?" John's voice was a little shaky, Sherlock's cool smooth hands on his skin were extremely distracting.

Sherlock pushed himself up to look at John. "Shut up, John", he muttered and placed a firm kiss on his mouth. John then pulled him closer, his hands clenching in Sherlock's expensive shirt. Said shirt soon made its way to the floor, along with John's pants and shirt and every other item of clothing that was in their way. Sherlock's hands were trembling as they brushed over John's body, while kissing him feverishly. John, however, felt like Sherlock was always a few steps ahead of him, with the chaste kisses and his hands all over, making him shudder and moan, leaving his skin burning in the places he touched him.

Sherlock quickly got rid of John's boxers and then got a grip of John's hips. He inched down a bit to settle between his thighs, he stroked along John's rather impressive erection and then looked up to meet John's eyes. He smiled, and John could hardly believe how beautiful he was, his pale skin a dazzling contrast to his dark ruffled hair, eyes darker than usual with his pupils blown wide. Sherlock began licking up and down John's shaft, drawing circles with his tongue and John's hand settled in his hair, pulling slightly at times, aware that he wouldn't last very long. He eventually came with a load moan, extremely glad that Lizzie wasn't home, because that surely would have made for an interesting topic at the breakfast table the next morning.

"God, that was amazing", John whispered, still breathing heavily. Sherlock settled on his stomach, John's hand still in his hair, softly brushing the curls out of his eyes. "Do you want me to…?"

"No", and with that he wrapped the blanket around both of them as best as he could and closed his eyes, a smile still playing around his lips. John snickered, that was a bit more like the Sherlock he usually dealt with. I wasn't really late, but Sherlock's steady breathing told John that he was fast asleep already, so he turned to switch off his bedside lamp. In the dark he allowed himself to grin widely.

The next morning, John was woken up by his alarm clock. He immediately noticed that Sherlock was still there, because the taller boy was wrapped all around him, clinging to him in his sleep. At first he was startled, since Sherlock normally didn't stay that long, even when he had fallen asleep on John's bed after a long day, he'd always left early in the morning, long before John had to get up for work. He turned off the alarm and glanced at Sherlock, who looked at him with wide awake eyes.

"You stayed", he mumbled.

"Of course I did."


	9. Chapter 9

A couple of days later, on John's day off, he got a text from Sherlock. He was rather surprised, as he'd said that he'd be busy with his case. Sherlock wanted him to come to Regent's Park, no explanation why, no nothing, only vaguely hinting at his exact location.

So John went down to the café, where he grabbed some coffee for Sherlock and himself. He had no idea what he was up to this time. Two days ago, he had asked him to meet him, that time actually with an address and John had ended up sitting on a rooftop next to Sherlock, who was "busy working". He had brought coffee as well, which had been greatly appreciated, so he figured it might be a good idea.

Molly was there watching him with big eyes. "Are you… meeting Sherlock?" she asked reluctantly.

For a brief moment, John thought about lying to her, because he knew exactly how much she fancied Sherlock, but she probably knew everything anyway, she might be shy and didn't talk a lot, but she sure as hell wasn't stupid.

"Yeah," he mumbled, fiddling with the plastic lids for the coffee.

"Oh…" She looked down and John could see her contemplating. He threw her a questioning look. "Well," she began, "are you guys _together_?" Molly regretted asking him about two seconds later and blushed.

He only shrugged, since he had not the slightest clue what exactly they _were_. But "together" seemed like a nice way to put it. Because they were together. A lot.

Molly then quickly turned her attention back to her work, sparing him further comments, and John left for Regent's Park. Surprisingly, it didn't take him all too long to find Sherlock. He lay on blanket in the grass, fairly close to where they had hidden in the bushes a couple of weeks ago, his eyes were closed and he looked absolutely stunning with the afternoon sun on his face. John stepped closer and sat down next to him.

"Hello, John", he muttered, still not opening his eyes.

"Hey." He could have just stared at Sherlock for a while, but he wanted to know what was going on. "So… what are we doing? I brought you coffee, by the way."

Now Sherlock halfway opened his eyes, looking at him curiously. "Why would you think that we are doing something?" He sat up and took the coffee. "I just wanted to see you."

"Oh… alright." John was mildly confused again. "What about your case?" he asked.

"There's not much for me to do at this very moment." He hesitated for a minute before he continued to speak, slowly sipped his coffee and watched all the other people who enjoyed the sunny day in the park, walking their dog and playing with their kids, their lives unfolding right before his very eyes. John cleared his throat, which made Sherlock snap back into the here and now. He turned to look John in the eyes and lightly brushed his hand along John's cheek. "John, would you do me a favour and stay at home tomorrow night?"

"Tomorrow night?" John repeated. He was pretty sure that he knew what this was about. "Can't I help? I mean, you said that it's easier for you to think when I'm around"

Sherlock smiled at the thought of it, but then shook his head. "Yes, however, I cannot stand the thought of you being in danger because of me. So can you do that for me? Just stay at home."

"Sure, where would I go without you anyway." He chuckled and let Sherlock pull him in a hug. They sat still for a while, until Sherlock words settled in John's mind. "Is it really that dangerous? I mean, you'll be fine, right?"

"Of course I'll be fine, don't be silly. Mycroft made sure that I have the best people working for me." He buried his nose in John's sandy hair. "Really, John, just relax." Saying that, Sherlock pulled him back down on the blanket. John shut his eyes and enjoyed the sunlight on his skin for a while, thinking about how he could have only dreamed of this summer being as amazing as it had turned out to be.

"Are you coming back to London to become a doctor?" Sherlock suddenly asked.

"Did you see the books in my room?" It has always been John's dream to become a doctor, so he had brought all his books to prepare for what was coming when he went to uni.

"Oh, look at that, observing my observations," he replied with a chuckle, sounding rather proud. "So?"

"Yeah, that actually was the plan. Do you think you still want to hang out with me then?"

"I'd rather enjoy that, yes." Sherlock took his hand in the most awkward angle that was humanly possible, but John said nothing.

That being sorted out, they both remained silent for a bit, Sherlock concentrating on John's slow breathing right beside him, for the sole purpose of distracting him from what he had planned for the following day. John's thoughts, however, were hovering on exactly that. What trouble Sherlock might be getting into and how much he'd like to help, although he was painfully aware that there would be nothing he could do anyway. He sighed and felt Sherlock softly squeeze his hand. He knew he was worried. Of course he knew, he always did.

When the shadows were starting to grow longer and his current position became more and more uncomfortable, John sat up and poked Sherlock in the ribs. "Do you want to go have dinner?"

"Right, yes, why not." They gathered the blanket and their empty coffee cups. "How about we go back to my flat?"

On the way there, they bought tons of Chinese food in a little restaurant around the corner from Sherlock's flat. While they were walking, Sherlock permanently went on about how he actually didn't need to eat at all, since he sometimes went days without eating anything and that they'd bought way too much food, John only shaking his head and trying to talk some sense into him.

Back at the flat, they sat down on the floor to eat as there was no space on any table or sofa whatsoever. The flat looked almost exactly the same, except that the map of the network was gone and the room seemed messier than before if that was even possible. John's eyes wandered across the room, coming to a rest on the violin. Sherlock followed his glance.

"Of all the things Mummy made me learn when I was little, I always liked the violin best", he mumbled. John smiled, Sherlock hardly talked about his life and his family, so he barely knew anything about him. He was glad for any piece of information, no matter how small and trivial it was.

"Would you play something? For me?"

Not answering, Sherlock just swiftly got up, leaving John wondering how anyone could ever move this elegantly without even trying, and picked up his violin. The song he played was beautiful, John felt like he knew it, although he was sure he'd never heard it. Sherlock played with his eyes closed, the soft light from the street lights making him appear more unreal than John had ever seen him. When Sherlock was done, he stood still for a bit, slowly putting the violin back in its place.

John scrambled to his feet and quickly walked over to kiss him. They stumbled against the sofa, falling on a pile of files, sending paper flying across the floor, but what did it matter. That night John finally got to properly thanks Sherlock for the last time when they'd been at John's, unaware that this would be their last night together for a very long time.


	10. Chapter 10

As promised, John didn't go anywhere the next day. He worked, sold coffee and pastries, tried to avoid talking to Molly and ended up having to make an enormous amount of sandwiches for Mrs Turner, who was having a "little party with some old friends". Lizzie was going as well, so he'd have the flat for himself, which actually had him hoping that Sherlock would miraculously turn up at his doorstep.

"John, dearie, would you help Mrs Turner carry all those sandwiches?" Lizzie called from the little kitchen. "You can be off when you're done, Molly offered to help me clean up."

He grabbed bags full of food and nodded at Mrs Turner, who was waiting for him at the door. "Yes, of course."

When he reached the door, a thought nagged at his mind. _John, would you do me a favour and stay at home tomorrow night?_ He shook his head slightly, it was just across the street and a quick look at the window on the other side left him quite certain that nobody was home. There had been nothing going on all day, he had kept his eyes on the street, but he had seen nothing unusual. Of course, he hadn't been looking nonstop, still, he was sure that whatever Sherlock had planned wasn't going to happen here.

After listening to Mrs Turner thanking him for what seemed like an eternity, he eventually said goodbye to her. He was on his way to the front door, the door, however, was blocked by someone leaning against it. John instantly recognized his face, now he was in trouble.

"Well, well, little Johnny", he said smugly.

"You are…?" John trailed off. What do you say to a guy of whom you know that he's a criminal?

"Jim Moriarty. Hi." He pushed himself off the door and took a couple of steps towards John. "See, Johnny, your friend Sherlock is planning on catching me tonight. And, I suppose you'll understand, I can't let that happen. So if you will follow me outside, there's a car waiting for us and I would like you to get inside. Don't even think about running." He wasn't a very tall fellow, maybe a couple of years older than him, wearing the most expensive suit John had ever seen. At first glance he didn't seem dangerous at all, but they way he talked gave John goose bumps. Moriarty was right, running wasn't an option. "Come on now. Pretty please," he purred with a vicious grin.

John recognized the guy who was behind the steering wheel as the other bloke from across the street, Moriarty called him Seb and he was driving like a lunatic. All in all, John wasn't sure if he should be afraid of dying in a car accident or of being murdered by those two nutters. He felt surprisingly calm on the outside, but his mind was raging, another thought occupying his mind was trying to find a way of warning Sherlock. He still had his phone, but he could hardly pull it out of his pocket, not with Moriarty's eyes on him, watching his every move.

He had no idea where they were going, nothing seemed familiar, but then again, he didn't know a whole lot about London, he'd been here a couple of times with his family visiting aunt Lizzie and such, but they'd only ever done the touristy stuff and nothing else.

They eventually reached their destination, it was an abandoned warehouse, somewhere in the outskirts of the city. John almost rolled his eyes, this was so cliché, he was almost tempted to laugh. The sun was going down behind the building that had obviously been empty for ages, slowly falling apart and weeds growing all over the place.

"I like the location you picked, Seb, it's very convenient. Is everything else ready?" Moriarty looked out the tinted windows of the car with a smirk. "Is everything else ready?"

Seb nodded and wordlessly got out of the car, picking up a duffle bag and a gun from the passenger seat.

"If you would follow Sebastian, John." He motioned at him to get out of the car and John did what he said, scanning his surroundings for a way to escape, but those idiots had taken him to the middle of nowhere, with no chance to get away whatsoever. Of course, he could run, but where would he run to? Seb would probably shoot him before he got away.

He ended up being handcuffed to a rusty pipe behind a pile of wooden boxes, out of sight of anyone who might enter the warehouse. Seb snatched John's phone out of his pocked and placed it on one of the boxes, just out of reach. "Don't get any ideas."

Moriarty looked down at John. "Your friend Sherlock has started taking down my network, I bet he's really proud of himself now. Maybe we should let him know, that his precious friend is not as safe and sound as he wants him to be." With a pleased smile, he typed a text. "Take your position, Seb, I suspect he will be here before long."

Seb walked off, with his gun and his dufflebag and John suddenly felt extremely anxious. He threw Moriarty the most murderous glance he could manage. "He's not stupid, he won't just come here on his own with you waiting for him." That, at least, was what he was hoping most sincerely, but actually he knew that Sherlock would come here by himself, that was just the way he was. Stupid. And God knows what they'd do to him.

"Oh, we'll see about that, Johnny. We'll see. Now be a good boy and don't wander off while daddy's taking care of his business." His slid his fingers over the wooden boxes and for a second they hovered on John's phone. "Seb has his eyes on you, John. His father was in the army, he's taught him well. He's never missed a shot in his entire life. Just… for your information." With that, he headed off into the darkness of the warehouse.

It wasn't long until John's phone buzzed for the first time and he realized why Moriarty hadn't taken it. That was Sherlock texting him. John yanked at the handcuffs, trying to somehow break the pipe, to get to his phone.

A few minutes later, there was another text. And John sat on the dusty floor, watching, angry and scared. He forced himself to breath steadily, now was not the time to panic. Another yank at the handcuffs left read streaks on his wrists, but the pipe wouldn't break.

His phone was buzzing constantly now, obviously somebody was calling.

After what seemed like ages it finally stopped and John sat in complete silence, surrounded by darkness, until he heard a car pulling up outside the warehouse, a door banging shut, only one door, so he'd come alone after all, hurried footsteps on the gravel, one of the rusty iron doors opening with a creak.

John closed his eyes for a second, thinking about just yelling at Sherlock to get out while he could, but it was too late, so all that was left for him was hoping that they would somehow get out of this mess alive.


	11. Chapter 11

It didn't take Sherlock long to find him. He peeked around the wooden boxes, a gun in hand and his eyes alert, scanning his surroundings. "John… you could have told me you were here. Are you alright?" He crouched down and started picking at the lock of the handcuffs.

Of course he was complaining. "I… you… please tell me someone knows that you're here. It's a set-up, Sherlock, they're gonna fucking kills us." John was really mad now, although he should have been grateful that he'd come for him.

"Yes, that's rather obvious. _Are you alright_?" Sherlock's voice had adopted an urgent tone now and turned over to look John in the eyes.

"Do I look alright to you? Seriously, we have to get out of here, they have guns and I'm damn sure they're gonna use them and…" Sherlock placed one of his long pale fingers on his lips and finally freed him of the handcuffs.

Sherlock pulled him to his feet in one quick movement. "This was all way too easy, wasn't it?" John asked, his voice a mere whisper. Sherlock didn't answer, it was obvious. Suddenly his eyes grew wide, his expression unreadable, but if John hadn't know better, he would have thought it was fear. "Sherlock, what…?" He followed his gaze down his chest, where a red light was flickering, quivering slightly, as if it was searching for the perfect spot, eventually coming to rest over his heart.

Breathing, yes, he needed to keep breathing, this really was not the time for panicking. Now, however, he could read Sherlock's expression perfectly well. _I'm so sorry for pulling you into this._

_It's alright_, he wanted to say, _I had the best of all times with you, no need to ever feel sorry for all of this._

"Well, well. I just want to say Hi before I leave." Sherlock spun around, just soon enough to see Moriarty stepping out of the shadows, immediately pointing his gun at him. "And I will give you a fair warning. You need to back off, Sherlock. I'm really not happy with you destroying all my hard work. It's nothing I couldn't fix, though. So, _we_ are going to leave and _you_ are not going to follow. Is that understood?"

"What would you do if we did? Kill us?" Sherlock was perfectly calm now. John thought it was somewhat admirable, since he clearly wasn't.

Moriarty casually picked some fuzz off his suit, his lips twitching. "Don't be obvious. But you see, it doesn't actually matter, Sherlock. You're going to do exactly as I say, you're way too fond of your little pet here, you're not going to risk his precious life. Now, put your gun down and we might all just live happily ever after."

Sherlock slowly placed his gun on the ground, not without looking at John for a second and then stepped back, right in front of John, the tiny red dot now targeting him. "Some other time then."

"No," Moriarty said, chuckling as if it was one of the best jokes he'd ever heard in his entire life. "Really, no." And with that he walked off, the shadows of the warehouse swallowing him.

And with Moriarty, only seconds later, the red dot also vanished. It was quite obvious to John that Sherlock was itching to run after them. A minute or so later, they heard their car race off, probably on the way to the next airport, never to be seen again.

Sherlock still didn't move, slightly pushing John against the pipe and the wall behind it. John let out a sigh of relief when they were gone and rested his head between Sherlock's shoulderblades, both of them taking in how lucky they were to still be alive.

John lightly touched Sherlock's arm. "I messed it up, didn't I? I only walked across the street… should have listened to you."

Now Sherlock moved, stepped away from him, still facing the other way. "No, John. It was only my fault. I didn't _see_."

"See what?"

"This… all of this. I didn't think… I just didn't think it through." John had never seen him like this. He paced back and forth, trying to figure out what his next step should be, John watching with wide eyes. Eventually, he picked up his gun and finally looked at John. "I need to go after them."

"Alright, let's go." He walked past him, grabbing his phone and heading straight for the exit and out of the warehouse. It had gotten dark, but he could see Sherlock's silhouette in the moonlight right behind him.

"John…" Sherlock took his hand and squeezed it a bit. "John, you can't come."

"What do you mean, I can't come? Of course, I'm coming. And there's nothing you could say or do to convince me otherwise. Can we go now?"

Sherlock seemed rather taken aback for a moment. "Fine. Let's… oh, I guess we'll need to find another way of getting around", he finished with a look at the impressively big knife sticking out of one of the car's tyres.

Luckily, Sherlock knew the right people and they were at the airport in no time. He'd been on his phone for ages, calling his brother, asking him to send them a car and talking about flight schedules and fake passports and airports and people to contact abroad. He had only been nodding at the information he'd gotten from his brother, John silently standing next him.

Soon, a black car had pulled up next to them and Sherlock had told the driver to take them to Heathrow. He had then proceeded to stare out the window. Thinking. Neither of them had spoken, but at some point Sherlock had taken John's hand, their fingers intertwining, with so many things to say, but none of them had dared to actually talk. All of this could go so very wrong.

They'd been dropped off at the airport and now John watched Sherlock write a few texts, people rushing about, coming and going, completely oblivious to all the things happening around them. For a second John wished to be one of them.

"John? There are some things I have to take care of." Sherlock didn't seem nervous, however, there was something distant in his eyes that was not quite right. "Could you… wait here for me? I'll come back to get you." He kissed him, hurriedly, his hands streaking trough John's hair.

"Promise?" What he actually wanted to say was, _why can't I just come? _But no, he'd trust him. He had come for him when he was in that warehouse, this was the least he could do for him.

Sherlock nodded and placed another kiss on John's forehead and then he was off, leaving John alone with nothing but his thoughts.


	12. Chapter 12

The longer Sherlock was gone, however, the more John became aware of what a stupid idea this all actually was. Honestly, he couldn't just run off. What about Lizzie? She'd cold-bloodedly murder him – well, Moriarty would probably take care of that anyhow – but still, in school he'd often gotten himself into trouble, because he didn't think things through properly. What would his mum say, oh, she'd be so mad. Maybe Sherlock's brother could work out some cover story for him, he worked for the government after all.

He shook his head, eyes scanning his surroundings for Sherlock, but he was nowhere to be seen. This was the worst idea he'd ever had. How had he gotten himself into this? Admittedly, he also had second thoughts because he was scared. He was just some normal bloke, he didn't do stuff like that, not ever.

Still, part of him wanted to follow this mad bastard wherever he'd go, but he was just a kid and he was so in over his head. Should he tell Sherlock he couldn't come? That he wanted nothing more than to chase after criminals with him, throw caution to the wind and just run, but that it wasn't the right time, that he couldn't possibly just leave right now.

John fiddled with his phone in his pocket, pondering, unsure what would be the right thing to do. Disappoint Sherlock or disappoint his family. Run or hide.

Where was Sherlock anyway? This was taking ages. He was sure he looked pretty damn lost to anyone who noticed him, standing there, nervously rocking back and forth on his heels, not that there were a lot of people around.

He almost jumped when his phone suddenly started vibrating in his pocket. "Sherlock, where are…?"

"John, listen…" Sherlock's voice sounded different, not as strong and determined as it usually was, almost a little timid. Scared. "You can't come with me."

"Wait, what? Why?" John would have thought that the first thing he'd feel was relief, it wasn't, though. He was severely disappointed.

"I… I care about you, John. And that is my biggest disadvantage. I can't take you with me, Mycroft will send you a car to take you back to your aunt's, it's all taken care of."

John looked around, trying to find Sherlock, he must be around here somewhere. "I would have followed you anywhere, you know." As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized that he actually meant it, no matter what doubts he might have had before. John's voice was merely a whisper, he couldn't believe that this was really goodbye, that he wouldn't see him for god knows how long, that he'd just run off without him. He wanted this adventure, he really did, but it wasn't his to have. Not right now, he knew that, and apparently, so did Sherlock.

"I know, and I appreciate it greatly, believe me." There was nothing but silence for an instant, both of them thinking about what they should say next.

John didn't dare speak a word, the silence somehow reassured him, Sherlock was still there, he could hold on. He closed his eyes and just for a second he felt like he was back in his room, with Sherlock by his side. A barely audible sigh escaped him, which reminded Sherlock of their current situation. "I have to go, John."

"No, no… Sherlock, wait, you can't just leave me here like that… how will I know that you're okay? How… I mean, what are you gonna do? Are you gonna come back?" To him, this was the most important question. _Are you gonna come back… to me?_

"I… I don't know… I can't… tell you. I'm sorry." It almost sounded like he meant it, like he was really terribly sorry.

John's grip around his phone tightened. "Sherlock…" There was nothing more he could say, but he wasn't willing to let him go just yet.

He could hear Sherlock take a deep breath. "Goodbye, John."

* * *

><p>John knew the car when it pulled up next to him, it was the same that had taken him from the airport back to Baker Street, where his aunt lived.<p>

It was his last night in town, he'd had a nice dinner with Lizzie and then he'd gone out, saying he had to take care of something.

It was dark, a little chilly. He knew the way now, the way to Sherlock's flat, he'd walked it every day since he'd left. He wasn't exactly sure why he had gone back there, Sherlock wasn't there, he'd know if he was back, but still, it was impossible for him to stay away.

The car's door opened and Sherlock's brother Mycroft looked at him from inside. "Would you like a ride back, John?"

John shrugged, he might as well get in, as much as he doubted that he'd tell him, but maybe Mycroft did have information on how Sherlock was doing. He climbed inside and watched Mycroft watch him, as the car slowly started moving towards Baker Street.

Mycroft was in his late twenties, probably, it was hard to tell, since he looked so utterly tired, which however, didn't make him seem less intimidating. John waited for him to speak.

"He's in Switzerland," he eventually said.

"Oh…" was all he managed to choke out. Not coming home then. Not that he'd expected any good news.

"John, I am aware that you are leaving London tomorrow. I know, you were hoping to see Sherlock again before you go back home, but it seems like his _business_… is taking a lot longer than anticipated and he wants me to… apologize. For the trouble he has caused you, that is."

"The trouble he has caused me?" John's voice was surprisingly steady. "Why doesn't he just call me? I have a phone, you know."

"Under the current circumstances it is probably not the best idea for him to contact you." He frowned. "I understand the way the two of you parted was somewhat unfortunate."

John snorted. "That's one way to put it."

Mycroft obviously didn't have anything to say to that, but John thought that he looked almost a bit sympathetic. They soon came to a stop next to his aunt's café. "Thanks for the ride," he mumbled.

Mycroft nodded. "Best of luck, John."

He watched the car until it was out of sight, then he went back inside and slowly walked up the stairs to finish packing his suitcase.

He left London the next day.

And Sherlock Holmes became a story he never told anyone, but that never quite left him.


	13. Chapter 13

John met Mycroft only one more time, he walked into the café, coincidentally it seemed, while John was visiting his aunt a couple of days after he'd come back to London for uni. They didn't say a word to each other, like they'd never met, random strangers who just happened to be in the same place.

John watched him order and pay his coffee and a piece of chocolate cake, just waiting for _something_. Mycroft never so much as glanced at him, on the way out, however, when John was getting rather desperate for any kind of recognition, Sherlock's brother quickly looked over to him, slightly shaking his head.

The message was clear. _He's not back, don't even try_. But what even would he try to do anyway, he wouldn't even know how to find him, Sherlock could be anywhere. John spent a lot of time thinking about where he might be. Thinking of Sherlock was a dreadful thing these days.

It always was. Uni might have distracted him a bit; after a while the thought of being with Sherlock again, or just seeing him again, became more distant with each passing day.

* * *

><p>A couple of months later he met Mary.<p>

A couple of years later he graduated.

He found a nice flat with Mary, and still, he strolled through London like he was looking for something, not really _looking_, but always searching. Things changed around him. His aunt moved to the country and closed the café, the building Sherlock's flat had been in was turned into an office, there was next to nothing to remind him of the times he'd had with Sherlock.

Even Mary noticed that there was something going on with him and when he didn't explain, couldn't explain, really, she left.

And after giving it not as much thought as he probably should have, John decided to leave, too. He joined the army, got sent to Afghanistan, and then was sent back home again after he got shot.

When he came back to London, everything was different, he had changed so much that he didn't even know himself anymore, which was scary at times, and he struggled to keep his head over water. London was too expensive for him after all.

It was in January, he remembered, when he ran into Mike Stamford, who he'd studied at Bart's with and promptly attempted to solve his accommodation problem. He took him back to Bart's that day, knowing "just the man" who might need a flatmate.

"He's in the lab at the end of the hallway, I'd introduce you properly, but I have students to teach, " Mike said with a wink and a wave vaguely directed at said lab.

Years later John couldn't quite grasp what exactly he'd felt when he walked into that bloody lab and saw Sherlock Holmes doing some probably really unimportant experiment. It was like a punch in the face at first, disbelief then, excitement next and then an overwhelming need to punch _him_ in the face.

It was him, no doubt about it, he had changed, surely, but he was still alive, still had the same dark curls, a little shorter, but unmistakably the same, and also the same light eyes that were now scanning his face with the same old precision.

"It's you… it's really you, isn't it?"

"Quite so." A quick grin that made John want to punch him even more flickered over his face.

"'Quite so', is that all you have to say? Is that it? You've been here all this time? I thought you might have died." John stepped a little closer with each word, closer to Sherlock, which he knew was a bad mistake, but quite honestly, he couldn't care less.

"I didn't think you wanted to see me, and then you went to Afghanistan…" Suddenly John realised what this was about. Mary.

John shook his head in disbelief. "You complete _idiot_," he breathed. "I've spent years… wishing I could see you again. She left me, you know."

"I know. And then you left."

"No, no, no. I… I didn't, you ran off without me and then you…" He didn't get any further, since Sherlock took a quick step toward him, somehow managing to shove him against the table and screwing up every part of the experiment that was on it.

Kissing him was still the same, maybe a little more desperate. For a second he remembered the times he had thought of Sherlock's lips on his, but memory was nothing against the reality of Sherlock so close to him.

He managed to pull away for a second. "Sherlock… there are things we need to talk about."

"Yes, I hear you are looking for a flatshare, there's a rather nice place in Baker Street," he murmured.

"Don't think I'm just going to forgive you like this…"

"You really want to talk about this now?" Sherlock's face was serious all of a sudden.

"Oh, bloody hell…" John pulled him into another kiss.

They could talk later.

* * *

><p><em>thank you guys for reading my fic, I abandoned it a bit, sorry about that, so this is the end, thanks for reading and reviewing!<em>


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